A Mockery Of Life
by Update
Summary: Arranged marriages are one thing. But marriage at the cruel whim of a crueler stepfather, marriage to a violent, heartless man - some would say it is a life, at least, but Rowena is sure it is only a mockery of life. Rating for safety.
1. An Indecent Proposal

"You're crazy! Insane! You inbred, drivelling, selfish son of a rancid goat! How dare you? How _dare _you! You can't do this! You filthy, conniving, sordid worm! Do you have any sense of decency, you puling coward, you perverted–"

"Rowena! Your language! Don't you dare speak to your father in that manner!"

"He's not my father! That's the bloody point! Not my father, and you can't tell me what to do, you can't make me do this – you rotting corpse of a foul maggot!"

Sirval Slytherin strode forward and grabbed his step-daughter's arms, shaking her. "Silence, minx! You'll do as I say!"

"I won't!" she swore. "You can do nothing to make me! You–"

He slapped her, hard. "The Slytherin line will continue! Do you hear me? You will do as I command you!"

"I won't." The anger wasn't gone, but she spoke with absolute certainty. "You _cannot_ make me. You have _no _authority over me!"

He hit her again. "You are a Slytherin and as such, you will–"

"I'm a Ravenclaw! A Ravenclaw! My father was a Ravenclaw! Mother!"

Sirval raised his hand again and his wife flinched. "Oh, please, it's – maybe – couldn't you–?"

He rounded on her. "The girl is a harpy! Refusing to change her name, defying me at every turn, associating with Mudbloods against my express orders! She deserves more than she's getting! Keep out of it!"

Rowena fought him, trying to pull her arms from his grasp. He loosed the left to cuff her sharply, but she twisted away from him. The blow landed on her face instead of her ear, and she cried out.

If his step-daughter had snivelled and whimpered, even moderately, Slytherin might have released her. Rowena, however, would never do that. She wrenched her other arm from his grasp and spat in his face.

"Minx! Slut!" He shoved her backwards and pinned her against the wall. "Listen well, you common-kissing flax-wench! You will be married in three months time, and you will do so without complaint."

"You can dress me up and drag me to the altar if you fancy spilling blood, but the only words that will leave my lips are 'I do not!'"

He knocked her almost casually about the head, making her ears ring. "Silence! You will find your future husband much less forgiving than I! Be sure you mind yourself with him, wench; he has no time for argumentative women. Button your lip once you are married, lest you be disciplined properly!"

She tried to squirm away, but he held her fast. He almost smiled; a snake's grin. "He will not hold himself in for fear of damaging your pretty face, Mistress! He has a quick temper, your betrothed!"

---

Helga slid through the door, barely opening it, and crossed the room to the bed in seconds. She sat, silently, and put her arms around her friend.

After a few minutes, Rowena rubbed angrily at her eyes and pulled away. "I hate that bastard." Helga kept her mouth shut about the swearing: life with Sirval Slytherin practically demanded it.

"Your mother didn't even want to let me in, and I know he isn't here. He's been going on about Mudbloods again?"

Rowena shuddered. "Don't use that word. I hate it."

Helga smiled. "I hear it enough from half the town. What else? You're crying."

"I know that. I… they… I have to get married." She said it in a rush, as if purging the words from her tongue.

"Oh, Rowena!"

They were silent a moment, then Helga ventured, "You know, lots of women get married. That sounds stupid, I know, don't say anything. But… Well, I know you don't want a husband, but…" She groped for words.

"But I'm spoiled and selfish and I should suffer through it and be glad I'm not as badly off as some people?"

"Rowena! No! I wasn't saying that, I didn't mean that!"

"I know you didn't. But it's true." Helga blinked. Rowena threw herself face down onto the bed.

"I could stand it," she said, muffled in the blankets, "I could. It's not getting married, it's…"

"What?"

Rowena sat up and turned away from her, staring at the floor. "I could stand anything else, I think. Maybe even an elderly husband. But…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Helga… My step-father wants…" She swallowed hard and looked up.

"I have to marry–"


	2. An Atypical Discussion

"Your _stepsister_?" Godric stared at him.

Salazar looked at him with a mixture of amusement and despair. "Yes."

"But… Jesus, Salazar, how can they _do_ that?"

"My father pays for me to stay here. I got the title and the land from Grandfather – he thought it would be… better… to skip over father – but he has the money. If he wants me to get married, then I get married. If he wants me to marry my stepsister, then I marry my stepsister. If he wants me to move to Ireland and raise pigs, then I move to Ireland and raise pigs."

Godric shook his head. The side of Salazar's mouth curled up in a mildly amused smile – he knew his friend well enough to understand that Godric could never tolerate being told what to do. He could never understand dependency.

"I've about wrapped up my studies, anyway," he told the other man. "I've nothing planned it would get in the way of."

"Yes, but – Sal!" Godric spluttered. "What about – my God, marriage! – it just doesn't… _work_ like that! What about free will and… Jesus, what if – you can't just _get_ _married_ and say, 'Oh, it doesn't change anything.' What about–"

"Love?"

"That wasn't exactly what I was going to say. What about… respect, or – God, Salazar, you might not even be compatible! What if she's a shrew, or something?"

"She is, apparently."

"Apparently? What do you mean, _apparently_?

"I haven't _met_ her, Godric."

"You haven't…" His friend gaped at him, completely at a loss for words and resembling a landed carp.

"No, I haven't met her," Salazar continued, taking advantage of the other's speechlessness to finish explaining without interruptions, "I haven't even met her mother. My father didn't feel that my presence at the wedding was necessary, so I decided that I'd rather stay here. No, I haven't met my stepmother, I haven't met my stepsister, I haven't met my betrothed, and the last two are one and the same. Yes, I prefer marrying her to being cut off and running away to Norway. Yes, I hear from my father she's a harpy. No, I do not, in fact, relish the prospect of this union. And yes, I do consider myself lucky."

Godric, completely dumbfounded, seized on the only part of his companion's speech that he could understand: "_Lucky_?"

Salazar's mouth twisted into an ironic smile. "After all, all things considered, with my father, I'm lucky I'm not marrying my _half_-sister."

The other man considered this for a minute before saying, carefully, "Salazar… you don't _have_ a half-sister…"

"Probably the only reason I'm not marrying her."

Godric shuddered. "I'm glad I've never met your father."

"You will, though. It's still my wedding, no matter who the bride is, and you're coming."

"Of course I am."

"Well, are you done lecturing me, then?"

"I wasn't lecturing you!" Godric protested. "I was just… registering my incredulity."

Salazar laughed. "As usual."

"Sal… are you _sure_ you want to do this?"

"No," his friend said, sombre. "I'm very sure that I don't. But I don't have a choice. That's not something you can understand, I think – you've never been there. Maybe one day. For your sake, I hope not."

"So do I." Godric waited for a moment. "So – you've never met her, but she's supposed to be a harpy…?"

"Ufh!" Salazar threw his arms into the air dramatically. "Haven't you anything better to talk about than my impending doom – I mean, wedding?"

His friend snorted.

"All right, all right. Her name's Rowena, she's seventeen. Um… Her mother's name is… Caroline. I think. It might be Catherine or Katrina. My father says she's insolent and disobedient."

Godric made a face.

"I know. At least disobedient is slightly justified – where he's concerned. Uh… She's educated – her late father's doing – and very well read. Intelligent. But has a gutter mouth, apparently. _That_ I do find very distasteful. He could be exaggerating, of course…" He trailed off, registering just how unlikely he thought that option, before picking up again with forced cheerfulness. "Anyway, she's fairly adept at all womanly pursuits – whatever _that_ means–"

Godric snorted again.

"… shut up – and can conduct herself in company. Whether or not she will _choose _to…" He caught himself and continued, "Very headstrong apparently – but then, you are, too, and it never bothered me – uh, rides, I believe, quite adept at most kinds of magic – and she's getting married in three weeks. There. Enough information?"

His friend grinned wryly. "That'll do."

"Good. Now - y_ou_ have an exam tomorrow and _I_ have an exam on Thursday..."

Godric groaned. "I know, I know, _we need to study_. Fine."


End file.
